


Standing on tiptoe

by Isidar_Mithrim



Series: May the 2nd 1998 [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Bromance, Canon Compliant, F/M, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, In the aftermath of the battle, May the 2nd 1998, Missing Scene, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:35:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23972344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isidar_Mithrim/pseuds/Isidar_Mithrim
Summary: May the 2nd, 1998. The battle is over, and after Harry’s tales about the last events that brought to Voldemort’s defeat, the trio leave the Headmaster’s office, headed to Gryffindor Tower.Despite being exhausted, there’s one thing Ron needs to do before resting.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Series: May the 2nd 1998 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1468477
Comments: 17
Kudos: 81





	Standing on tiptoe

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [In punta dei piedi](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/614785) by Isidar Mithrim. 



> This is quite an old story that I’ve heavily rewritten and ampliated while translating it from Italian, I hope you’ll enjoy it ^^
> 
> Thanks so much to Ina for betaing (and for doing so last minute)!! <3
> 
> And also thanks to remedial potion, because her amazing Romione stories played a big part on me finding the inspiration to finally finish this story ^^

Ron walked at Harry’s side, letting him lead the way through the wrecked halls of the castle. He looked… peaceful, in a way. It was easy to imagine why, with the heavy burden of ending You-Know-Who finally lift from his shoulder, but Ron wondered if it also had something to do with getting freed from the piece of You-Know-Who that had apparently lived inside Harry for most of his life.

It had been utterly shocking and woefully obvious at the same time, when Harry had told them about it, but the initial astonishment had quickly morphed into immense pride and admiration. Sixteen years and a half, that’s how long Harry had had that parasite inside him, but he’d still managed to be the best mate a person could ever wish for - Ron had only worn that sodding thing around his neck for a couple of months, and it had been enough to push him to leave his best friends.

And that wasn’t even the most impressive part: Ron remembered painfully well how viciously the Horcrux in the locket had fought for his life, and that made Harry’s sacrifice look even more remarkable. How hard it must have been to fight against the wish of not one, but two souls?

And yet, of course Harry had done it, the selfless git. 

Ron had been so blind not to realise it sooner, so reckless to leave him alone, and then Harry had been a corpse in Hagrid’s arms, his body as lifeless as Fred’s, and… Ron swallowed hard, blinking hastily to fight back the tears.

He had thought nothing could hurt as much as listening to Hermione screaming in unimaginable pain. 

He had been wrong.

 _This is not the time to dwell on that_ , he told himself. It was the time to thrive in the simple and amazing fact that everything was over, to rejoice in the oh so reassuring certainty that his best mates were at his side, breathing, _alive_. 

Except that maybe, hopefully, Hermione was something more than a best friend, now. 

He glanced at her, and an aching knot of affection tightened in his chest. Her bushy hair was disheveled, and she had a deep purple bruise on her right cheek. She looked more serene than she’d been in a very long time too, albeit more knackered, and Ron had to resist the urge to pull her in his arms and hold on tight until they were too exhausted to stand.

Only when they stopped before the Fat Lady’s portrait he finally registered where they were headed. He felt a pang of guilt thinking about his family gathered downstairs – thinking of _George_ – but he knew that Harry and Hermione needed to rest, and if he turned to walked back to the Great Hall they’d surely follow him. 

“I wasn’t expecting,” said the Fat Lady, a hand pressed on her chest, which rose and fell quickly, “any visitors,” – she took a deep breath – “anytime soon, but my friend Violet – told me the you three were – coming here, and I rushed over.”

“Oh… thanks,” mumbled Harry. 

“Password?”

“Er, we…” – Harry threw a questioning glance at Ron and Hermione, who shook their heads – “We don’t really know it. Can you… can you just let us through? Please?”

The Fat Lady stayed silent for a long moment, still catching her breath, and Ron hoped she’d be as understanding as Dumbledore’s gargoyle.

“Well, I guess I can make an exception for you three,” she said eventually, moving aside. “Go ahead.” 

It was odd climbing through the portrait hole and entering into the common room after such a long time. This place belonged to another life, one more comforting but also too tight for Ron to still fit in. It hit him, the realisation that they weren’t teenagers anymore, that they couldn’t just rewind their lives and go back to pretend everything was normal, because there was nothing normal in the rubbles on the floor, in the thick layer of white dust covering the comfy sofas and red armchairs, in the cracks running through the ceiling up to the shattered windows.

“Erm… I thought we could rest for a bit,” said Harry, sounding uncertain.

Ron turned toward him, and Harry offered him a casual shrug, jerking his head towards the stairs that led to the boys’ dorm, an hesitant question written on his face. “But if you think we should go back and help, then...”

“I think it’s a wonderful idea,” said Hermione with a reassuring smile. “It’d do us good to rest for awhile.” She looked at Ron, a heartwarming mixture of apprehension and hope creasing her features. “We’re be of no use until we’ve regained a bit of strength.”

There was a mild note of desperation in her voice, and he knew this was a hidden plea for him to stay, but also a will to respect his needs. Overwhelmed by her thoughtfulness, Ron nodded, not trusting himself to speak. 

Hermione gave him a relieved smile, then she followed Harry up the stairs, getting further from Ron with every step. At the mere idea of losing sight of her, dread creeped up his throat, cutting his breath, pumping his blood. It surprised him how unprepared he was to be apart from her, even for that little time, even if he could have reached her in the blink of an eye. 

That was how he realised he couldn’t wait a minute more.

“Hermione.”

She whirled towards him, her wide eyes shining with something that Ron didn’t dare to call love.

“Yes?”

“Can we... can we talk for a sec, before...” 

He gestured vaguely towards the dorms, and Hermione looked at him for a long moment, swallowing hard. When she nodded, a soft blush spreaded on her cheeks.

Ron grinned, feeling the lump in his throat dissipate, but there was one last thing he needed to do before telling her how much she meant to him. 

He glanced at Harry, who was climbing up the stairs with slow, silent steps, as if trying to make himself scarce before they were reminded of his presence. 

“That okay with you, mate?”

Harry froze for an instant, then he turned, a hint of amusement twitching the right corner of his lips. “Sure,” he conceded with a shrug. “But I reckon I witnessed enough of you two kissing for one day, so I think I’ll go crash on my –” His soft smirk turned into a frown. “Well, on one of the beds in our old dorm, if there’s any left. See you there later?” 

“’Course.” Ron nodded, grateful, but when Harry bowed his head in salute, he kept following him with his gaze until he disappeared from their sight. 

“He’ll be okay,” murmured Hermione, almost startling him. He hadn’t realised she had reached his side. “We all will, eventually.” 

Her gaze was so intense that his insides squirmed in trepidation, blood pumping in his ears.

“We will,” he agreed, his voice low. “We’re alive.” 

It was a stupid, obvious thing to say, but Ron didn’t care, because it wasn’t obvious mere hours before… because it was the only thing that mattered. 

Hermione laid a hand on his chest, her eyes watery with joy and sorrow above her tender smile. “We are.”

“I… you kept me alive,” blurted Ron, a warm heat spreading on his cheeks. “I kept thinking that… that I couldn’t die now that we… you know...”

His inner struggle to find the right words ceased when Hermione ran a thumb on his warm cheek. “I know,” she whispered, standing on tiptoe and brushing his lips with hers. 

She looked up at him with a sheepish smile, her hand still spread upon his chest, and Ron couldn’t hold back any longer.

He cupped her cheeks and pressed his mouth on hers, closing his eyes to savour the contact. Their lips were chapped and dry, but he didn’t care, because nothing else mattered anymore – nothing but her hair tickling his face, her arms wrapped around his waist, her slim body flushed against his own, and suddenly this was nowhere near enough to please the longing pulsing in his blood.

Ignoring the erratic thundering of his heart, Ron moved his hands on her back and softly ran his tongue over her bottom lips, seeking access into her mouth, seeking the intimacy he’d dreamed of for so long. She kissed him back eagerly, interlacing her fingers with his hair, and what had started as a gentle dance soon shifted into a fervent, breathless tango, a concert of beating hearts and roaming hands and pent-up want. 

It was all he’d ever craved, all he’d ever needed, and only the lack of air managed to bring them apart. 

Winded, they stayed silent, Ron’s forehead pressed against hers. He could feel her warm, ragged breaths washing over his skin – yet another faultless, indisputable proof that they were safe, alive.

He only waited until he could breathe again, before saying what he should have said months, _years_ ago. 

“I love you.” He spoke with plain simplicity, with an ease he’d never thought he could feel. “I’ve loved you for… for I don’t even know how long.”

Silent tears ran down her cheeks, but Hermione didn’t lower her gaze. “I love you too. So, so much.”

He caressed her face with his thumbs, wiping her tears. “Will you ever forgive me for leaving you?” 

“There’s nothing to forgive,” she said, shaking her head. “You came back. You were there when when I needed you the most. That’s all I care about.”

Ron knew it wasn’t that easy, knew they’d have to talk about it, that he’d have to explain, to give her a proper apology. For now, though, it was enough. “I never want to leave you again.”

Hermione smiled, her eyes bright with emotion. “You’d better,” she said with a smirk, standing again on tiptoe to give him a tender peck on the lips, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “I haven’t forgotten how to conjure an army of canaries.”

Ron chuckled, kissing her back, just because he wanted to – just because he _could_. “Nor have I.”

Hermione bit her bottom lip, diverting her eyes for a fleeting moment. “Will you ever forgive _me_ for that?” 

“Well, it was a pretty impressive piece of magic, and I kinda deserved it,” said Ron, grinning in what he hoped was a comforting, amused way. “So I reckon there’s nothing to forgive too.”

“Of course there is!” she said indignantly. “It was so awful of me. I could have genuinely harmed you!”

Ron shrugged. “You were hurt. We happen to do stupid things when we are hurt, especially… especially when it’s about the two of us.” He swallowed. Look at him, getting emotional to finally call them _us_. “But… it also means we care. Blimey, I ended up snogging another girl just because I’d found out you – the one I actually fancied – had kissed another boy years before.” 

He looked sheepishly at Hermione, and her lips twitched. “Well, if you put it like that, then I’m glad we’ve seen some sense,” she said, laying her cheek against his beating heart and wrapping her arms around his waist.

Ron held her tight. He wondered if it was the right time to bring that up, if he wasn’t rushing things too much, but he had always known he was going to make the offer, and he didn’t want to let her believe she was alone in this. He had just promised her to never leave her, after all.

She hadn’t seemed to mind.

“Hermione?” he said, playing with a strand of her hair.

“Mm?”

“Can I come with you in Australia?”

She pulled back, looking at him with wide eyes. “You remembered,” she whispered with a quivering voice.

Her touched expression was everything Ron could have hoped for. “Always the tone of surprise,” he teased with kindness, making her chuckle.

She playfully swatted his shoulder, beaming, and it was the most beautiful thing Ron had ever seen, despite the purple bruise on her cheek. 

“I’d really love for you to come with me.” 

“Good, because I’ve no intention of letting you go alone,” said Ron with determination, then he took a deep breath, bracing himself for the question he was about to ask – bracing himself for the answer he might get. “When do you want to leave?”

Hermione frowned in perplexion, like she couldn’t grasp why Ron was asking that, and he swore at himself under his breath. They had barely got together and he was already messing things up, even if he wasn’t exactly sure _how_. Maybe he should have found time to reread _Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches_ , between a Horcrux and another. 

“Well,” said Hermione, trapping her bottom lip between her teeth. “I’d like to go as soon as possible...”

Ron swallowed hard. He had expected that. He _understood_ that. 

It didn’t mean it was any easier to digest.

“Of course. I’ll talk with Dad and Percy, I’m sure they can help us arrange some Portkeys. I’m hoping in a couple of days, maybe even tomorrow, or we could use an airplate, if we have enough Muggle money left, or...”

He trailed off, because Hermione’s eyebrows had disappeared beneath her bushy hair. He played his own words back in his head, trying to understand why she was so crestfallen, and his ears burned up when he realised what he’d just implied.

“Not that you have to pay for my ticket,” he hurried to say, his face hot. “I’m sure Bill can land me some money, he will be –”

Hermione cupped his cheeks with her hands. “ _Ron_.” 

He fell silent, struggling not to lower his gaze.

“We won’t leave tomorrow,” she said with firmness.

He took a deep breath, trying not to get his hopes up. “We won’t?”

“Of course _not_ ,” she answered, sounding almost outraged. “You thought that I wanted to leave – that I wanted _you_ to leave – _before_ the funerals?”

It did sound silly, in hindsight. And yet...

“I… they’re your parents...” 

“And I can’t wait to to find them and fix what I’ve done, but I would never, _never_ ask you not to attend your own brother’s funeral, Ron. _Never_. And… and I want to be there too. For him. For Harry and Ginny. For _you_ ,” she added with a tenderness that reached the depth of his grieving heart. 

Ron pulled Hermione in his arm, burying his face in her hair. He felt cherished, moved, loved, but there was also a piercing ache seething inside him, tangled with harrowing flashes of Fred’s features, forever frozen in a hollow laugh. 

Sorrow washed over him, cutting his breath, clouding his mind, because Fred was dead, _gone_ , nothing more than cold flesh resting on a marble floor, and then Ron was weeping, his sobs reverberating loudly inside his chest, his tears damping Hermione’s hair.

She rubbed a soothing hand on his back, murmuring words of comfort that he couldn’t really grasp, and in some recess of his mind he knew that in the past he would have felt awkward and ashamed for crying like a baby while she held him, but in truth he was only grateful to have her at his side. Amazed that she’d stuck with him despite all the times he’d made her suffer.

He had no idea how long it took him to calm down, nor how they ended up sitting on a sofa, but he didn’t move from Hermione’s embrace even when he could breathe properly again. 

He caressed her side with his fingers, knowing there were no words meaningful enough to thank her. 

Hermione kissed his head with affection. “I’ve got you,” she murmured.

Ron squeezed her gently in response. “I know.” What he didn’t know was what he’d done to deserve her, but he’d never been so sure about them as he was right now. 

“What do you want to do, Ron?” she asked softly. “I know I said we should rest, before, and I meant it, but I understand if you want to go back. I’d keep an eye on Harry for you.” 

He’d thought he couldn’t love her more than he already did, but he’d been wrong. Again, there were no words to describe how much this offer meant to him, how good it felt to be understood so well.

But she was right, wasn’t she? She always was. They were exhausted and knackered, not to mention filthy, and they’d be of no use if they didn’t get some rest. And even if a part of him craved to get down and make sure his family was okay – or, well, as okay as they could be, given the circumstances – another part had no intention to leave Hermione or Harry alone. 

Ron had already made the same mistake with both, and he wasn’t going to repeat it again.

“No, you’re right, we should lie down for a bit,” he agreed, nodding. 

Hermione gave him a soft smile, tightening the grip around his hand. She stood up, and Ron followed her lead across the common room and along the stairs, up until his old dorm. 

She opened the door with slow movements, careful not to make too much noise, surely not wake Harry. Ron hoped with all his might that his was mate soundly and peacefully asleep.

The room looked oddly empty with only two beds rather than the five he was used to, and not one single Quidditch or football poster hanged on the wall, but the sight of Harry laying above the sheets of the closest four-poster bed made up for those losses. His chest was rising and falling rhythmically, and Ron breathed in relief, because deep down he had expected to find Harry tossing around, gripped by nightmares. Who knew, maybe that was another unexpected benefit of getting rid of the piece of You-Know-Who’s soul.

Only when Hermione squeezed his hand, leading him toward the other bed, Ron realised what should have been obvious since the moment they’d entered the dorm. 

He would have really liked to share the only remaining bed with her, but he also really didn’t want to take things for granted. 

“I’ll take the floor,” he murmured.

“Don’t be silly,” whispered back Hermione, sitting on the bed and removing her shoes. “It’ll fit us both.”

Ron kicked off his trainers and sat down beside her. “Will it?” he asked with a smirk, resisting the urge to wiggle his eyebrows suggestively.

“Of course it will,” said Hermione curtly, but he could tell she was biting back a smile. “But if you prefer the floor...”

“No,” he clarified hastily. “No, I don’t.” 

They lay down, and when Hermione snuggled up against him, Ron felt suddenly sheepish, even though this wasn’t much different from what they’d been doing not even five minutes ago.

And yet, there was a very demarcated line between embracing on a couch and on a four-poster bed, and Ron only knew one way to blur it.

“Hermione…”

“Yes?” 

“Do I kiss better than Krum?” he asked, his tone coy and teasing at the same time.

Hermione’s chuckle reverberated on his chest. “Way better.”

“Mm,” he said noncommittally – dismissively, even.

Hermione pulled herself up and looked at him, bemused. “I mean it!” 

_Checkmate._

“Well… are you really sure? Because, you know, I’d be happy to provide more comparison material, if you need it…”

Hermione laughed that genuine, delighted laugh of her that he loved so much. “You’ve already provided much more material than he ever did, for your information,” she said with a grin. “But I’m open to value quantity alongside quality.”

Ron smiled back. “I guess I can work with that,” he said, trying not to be too unfairly cheerful for what he’d just learned regarding Krum. 

It was Hermione who lead the kiss, this time. She leaned forward, her hair falling like a curtain around her face, and pressed her lips onto his, moving them softly, sweetly. He knew it was supposed to be a chaste kiss rather than a heated snog, but his hormonal body of a teenager had apparently missed the hint. He felt slightly sickened by himself, especially since he’d brought the ‘Krum’ topic up with the opposite intent – chilling things down – but he had no control whatsoever upon his hammering heart. He was thankful that Hermione’s cheek wasn’t pressed on his chest anymore, or she’d have definitely sense it. 

When she licked his bottom lip, Ron realised that soon enough there were going to be _other things_ for her to sense, and he really couldn’t afford it, not so soon, not after all that happened the last night. 

And then the thought of Fred hit him again, like a cold shower. What the hell was wrong with him, thinking about _that_ the very same day his brother died? Shame and guilt washed over him, knotting his stomach, and he pressed his hands against his eyes, in the foolish hope that it’d be enough to hold the tears back.

“Oh, Ron.” Hermione caressed his forearm with her thumbs, probably tracing his old brain scars. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his voice muffled.

“No, please, don’t be.” She gently moving his hands so she could look into his eyes. “I want to be here for you, no matter what. I just… I don’t know what else to do.”

“Just stay,” he whispered.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she promised, kissing his lips. “I love you.”

Ron took a deep breath, trying to fight the lump in his throat. “I love you too.” he said, hoping this time he wasn’t going to weep right after. At that, a sudden, amusing thought crossed his mind. “Blimey. I’ve turned into Cho Chang.”

Hermione let out a very unladylike snort, and Ron drew back to look at her, stunned.

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry,” she blurted, cupping a hand on her mouth. “I didn’t mean to laugh at you, I just –”

“It’s okay. I love your laugh.”

Hermione swallowed, looking at him with a fondness that made his heart skip a beat. “And I love how much you make me laugh.”

Ron smiled adjusting a lock of Hermione’s hair behind her ear. “Duly noted.”

She smiled back, lacing their fingers and caressing the back of his hand, then her expression became more serious. 

He wrapped his arms around her, and lulled by her rhythmic breath, he finally fell asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it <3  
> I’ll be delighted to receive any kind of feedback or to chat about headcanon or ships or whatever here or on [tumblr](https://isidar-mithrim.tumblr.com), if you feel like it ^^
> 
> A note about the title: Hermione is told to ‘standing on tiptoe’ when she kisses Ron’s cheek before his first Quidditch match in OotP; back in the days, it was the name of a Romione forum I’d joined, so I’m pretty fond of this expression, and I’ve never imagined a different title for this story.


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